without proper anchors. She’d have just drifted away.”
“Some people only travel in times of enormous stress or fear.” And watching your mother die had to top the fear charts.
“Sometimes it’s hereditary. We should ask Moira if Amelia ever traveled.” Nell cuddled a knitted pillow to her chest. “But it could also just be a dream. Sierra’s had a lot to deal with in the last six years. This might be one way her mind has tried to help her cope.”
“No way.” Devin’s voice was almost as raspy as Lauren’s. “It tears her apart. There’s no way that’s a healing dream.”
It could be. Sophie knew well that sometimes healing hurt. “Her subconscious might prefer it to not knowing.” A mother killed by a big wave might be better than believing she’d walked away and left you alone.
Lauren shook her head, as if trying to clear cobwebs. “Wait. Our two choices here are a dream that feels very real, but isn’t, or a twelve-year-old girl who got pulled out of her body because her mother was in danger?”
Sophie nodded. At a different time, she might have been amused—astral travel was always good for freaking out newbie witches. “Pretty much. At some level, I’m not sure it matters. It’s still a horrible thing for Sierra to have stuck in her mind.”
“The dream’s bad.” Devin’s eyes were darkly intent. “But it told us something really important.”
He had the attention of every witch in the room—and Lauren, at his shoulder, was nodding in quiet approval.
Devin looked at his brother. “Can you fetch Moira and Govin? I have something to say.” He put an arm around Lauren’s shoulder. “We have something to say.”
~ ~ ~
Lauren sat quietly, waiting for everyone to get settled. Govin was already sitting in the corner, chatting with Jamie. Nell handed Moira a cup of tea and turned around, perching on the arm of a chair. “Okay, you two. We’re all here. Talk.”
You wanna be the good cop, or the bad cop?
Devin’s question startled Lauren. She hadn’t realized her mind connections were that open. And then realized they weren’t—to anyone except for him. Leftovers from handling Sierra’s nightmare. You start. I’m a better deal closer.
He put his hands on his knees and surveyed the room. “We’ve really screwed up, and Sierra’s paying the price. She’s Amelia’s daughter, and therefore, we’ve assumed she’s like Amelia. She’s not. Not even a little.” He waited a beat. “Sierra Brighton’s not reckless, and we have to stop treating her like she is.”
Lauren could feel the stark confusion coming from everyone. Except Nat. That figured.
“She’s dangerous, Dev. We’ve seen it.” Govin was the most agitated witch in the room. “She’s got enough power in those fingers to let loose a disaster.”
“Do you really think she’s ever going to do that again?” Devin’s quiet question hammered into every mind in the room. “Look around your fear, Gov. Heck, it’s our fear that’s the whole problem here.”
He turned to his sister. “You’re scared she’s going to put Aervyn at risk again. Or that she represents what he might become if we can’t keep him hooked into community.”
Bull’s-eye. Lauren felt Nell’s mind quake.
Next, his brother. “You’re scared for Aervyn—and more scared that the girl in your wife’s belly might be the next Amelia Brighton.”
Three for three. That fear resonated even for Nat.
Devin turned to Moira, and didn’t say a word.
She met his gaze for a long time, and then looked down at her tea. “I’d be scared that our Sierra has her mother’s blood in her veins. The sins of the mother, living on in the child. It’s not right, and I’m sorry for it.”
“It’s okay to be scared.” Devin reached for Moira’s hand, speaking quietly. “It’s not okay to dive-bomb Sierra because of our fear. Our last meeting, we laid out a plan of attack. It’s time to stop attacking.”
Nell’s face was white. “She’s still dangerous, Dev.”
Lauren leaned forward. Her turn. “No. She’s not.”
Every head swiveled to look at her, most of them still wildly skeptical.
Govin spoke first, frustration lacing every word. “How big a wave does she need to make to convince you?”
Lauren dug for words—and then decided in this case, a picture was worth thousands of them. Reaching into her memory banks, she found the image of Sierra, staring at the dead bird in Aervyn’s hands—and projected it to everyone in the room, complete with the abject, horrified guilt that had been in the girl’s mind. Then she hit them with Sierra’s dreaming anguish as a magically